Peter was stunned.

“Seriously, Ryan?" he shot back. "You're actually taking her side now and feeding me crap? Fine. I’ll go to the hospital myself. She’d better actually be dead!”

The line went dead, and with that, Peter stormed off toward the hospital.

But just as he neared my room, Leila clutched her stomach and cried out dramatically,

“Peter, my stomach… it really hurts, all of a sudden…”

Peter’s face shifted. He turned pale. Without a moment's pause, he scooped her into his arms and rushed her straight to the VIP suite.

“Get every available doctor here! Bring in all the medical equipment!” he ordered, frantic. “I don’t want a single thing to go wrong with Leila or the baby!”

Right then, the entire hospital went dark, and the power failed.

...

The ventilator that was sustaining me stopped working, and my oxygen supply was cut off.

“What the hell?!” Ryan jumped up from his seat, his eyes wide.

Someone, probably a nurse, rushed into the room.

Her voice was breathless as she said, “Sir, the hospital’s power grid is overloaded. We’ve had a temporary outage. All emergency power and oxygen have been rerouted to Mr. Young’s VIP suite…”

Ryan’s face fell, and then he replied, "What? This is a top-tier hospital, fully equipped with backup tanks and contingency plans. How could everything be funneled to one room?"

Without thinking, he rushed directly to the VIP suite.

The moment he threw open the door, his stomach tightened at the sight.

Everyone in the room focused on one person.

And there, Ryan realized that the person hoarding all the medical supplies was his brother.

“Peter! Do you even realize Selene is in this hospital, too? Her room just lost oxygen! And you—”

But Peter didn’t even look up.

“It’s just a temporary pause for the other patients,” he said flatly. “She’s not gonna die in a few minutes. Besides, when hasn’t she faked being sick for attention? She always turns out fine.”

That was the last thing I heard before the pain swelled so violently that my ears rang.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

But I felt everything.

Ryan’s voice rises again, this time filled with panic. “She’s not faking it! Without oxygen, she’ll die!”

Peter frowned. He knew Ryan had always been calm and measured. This was the first time he’d ever seen him fall apart.

But before he could reply, Leila groaned from the bed, clutching her chest.

“Peter… I can’t breathe. It hurts…”

Instantly, Peter’s attention swung back to her. He jumped to her side, panic rising all over again. An aide stepped forward with a printed document.

Peter shoved it into Ryan’s hands and said, “Take this to Selene. Tell her to stop with the theatrics and sign this release form. Then get her over here to apologize to Leila.”

Ryan let out a sharp breath, half laugh, half disbelief.

Leila, glowing with health and pretending to be breathless, had Peter completely fooled. Meanwhile, Selene was truly hanging on by a thread, and even a breath of oxygen had become a luxury.

Ryan couldn’t watch this anymore. He grabbed one of the backup oxygen tanks from the corner and bolted out the door, running full speed toward my ward.

“Selene! I’ve got oxygen. Hang on! Please just hang on!”

I wanted to respond, to look at him and tell him I was still here, but I couldn’t even lift a finger.

My chest barely moved. The machine had gone still.

Ryan kept calling for help, but no one came because all the doctors had been pulled to Leila's room.

Feeling helpless, he sank to his knees beside me, gripping my hand. Tears poured down his face as he wept, and I desperately wanted to comfort him.

I tried to speak.

I really tried, but no sound came out.

When the nurse quietly explained that all the hospital's critical care equipment had been reserved for Mr. Peter Young's VIP ward, I understood everything.

Peter had never really believed I was sick. Not once.

Every time I brought him test results, Leila would destroy them before he could see them. Maybe he didn’t know, or perhaps he didn’t want to find out. Either way, my body had finally given out. And maybe that was the only peace I’d ever get.

With great effort, I lifted my heavy eyelids and looked at Ryan one last time.

I held on to that.

To him...

To every painful memory...

And then, I took my last breath.

...

Back in the warm, brightly lit VIP suite, Peter paced anxiously until the doctors finally returned with their evaluation.

“Mr. Young,” one of them said, “both Ms. Fields and the baby are in perfect health. There's nothing to worry about.”

Peter exhaled deeply, relief washing over his face.

“Thank God, Leila. You’re okay.”

Only then did Ryan’s earlier breakdown seem to resurface in his mind.

He turned to his assistant, lowered his voice, and said, “Follow Ryan. Find out what Selene is doing. And try to talk her into dropping the charges against Leila.”

Ryan dropped to his knees beside my lifeless body, his hands trembling as he tried to hold back his sobs.

Just then, familiar voices echoed through the hallway.

“Where’s our daughter?! Where is she?!”

My parents had finally arrived, frantic and out of breath.

Ryan stepped out of the room to meet them.

His voice cracked as he spoke, “Selene… she’s gone.”

For a brief moment, my parents froze. Then, their expressions shifted. Their tense brows relaxed.

“Didn’t Chiara say it was Leila who was sick?” my dad asked, his tone flat and cold. “Why would it be Selene?”

My mom waved her hand dismissively, clearly annoyed.

“Didn’t she claim she had late-stage cancer last month and only a month left to live? Yet she still had the energy to wait tables. You tell me, does that sound like someone who's dying? We never withheld money from her. She still had that million we gave her. Always pretending to be sick to gain sympathy.”

They forgot.

When they handed me the bank card, Leila was crying to them about not being able to buy a new dress. As a result, they took it away from me and gave it to her.

My daughter, Chiara, stood next to them, nodding along eagerly. “Mom always lies like that. Last time I saw her, she had money to shop.”

That shopping trip? I was buying her a birthday present. It cost me more than a month's salary.

Just then, another voice entered the scene.

“Dad! Mom!”

Peter walked toward them, his arm around Leila.

The moment my parents saw that Leila was okay, their expressions brightened. They hurried over.

Chiara rushed straight into Leila’s arms. “Mom, are you alright?”

Ryan just stood there, stunned.

Now he finally understood what I meant when I told him not to bother with them, that they were all useless.

My parents.

My daughter.

My husband.

They had all gathered around Leila without hesitation.

And not one of them cared that I was gone.

Even after death, my consciousness remained. My soul lingered, floating beside Ryan.

I had always known my family didn’t care, but watching it unfold in real time still carved deeply into what was left of my heart.

Leila was adopted by my family when we were young. She was an orphan, and my parents always felt more sorry for her than for me.

Once, she broke my mother’s favorite vase, and I was the one who took the blame.

“Leila’s had a hard life. She’s an orphan,” my mom said. “And now you’re trying to frame her? Go outside and kneel. Apologize.”

That night, I knelt in the snow until sunrise.

Peter, who lived next door at the time, had found me there. He wrapped me in a warm coat and helped me inside. But afterward, Leila began clinging to him as well and doing everything she could to steal his attention.

Back in the present, Peter turned to Ryan, irritation in his voice. “Did Selene sign the statement of forgiveness like I asked?”

Ryan let out a bitter laugh, his voice raw, as he gestured towards the gurney being wheeled down the hall, the body covered in white.

“Sign it?”

His voice rose, continuing, “Look! That’s Selene! She’s dead! And you’re still thinking about making her forgive Leila?!”

Ryan’s hands clenched tightly, and his whole body trembled with the effort not to strike his brother. Meanwhile, Peter paused mid-step, a slight frown forming.

He glanced at the body on the stretcher, wrapped tightly in white.

Then Peter scoffed. “She’s really going all out with this performance, huh? Selene’s terrified of dying, like she’d actually go that far.”

Yeah. I was still young. Why would I want to die?

If I could’ve lived, I would’ve dragged every one of them to hell with me.

“She’s just jealous again because I’ve been spending time with Leila,” Peter muttered. “Get her up and tell her to sign the damn agreement already.”

Impatient, Peter kicked the bed and reached out to yank back the sheet. At that moment, a ring slipped from my hand and hit the floor with a sharp clink.

The sharp sound caught his attention.

It was the ring he gave me when he proposed, and I never took it off. He said he forged it himself, so I always cherished it.

But on the day Leila returned home, Peter had taken off our wedding ring.

For the first time in a long while, he hesitated. His hand moved instinctively to lift the sheet, but doubt crept into his voice.

“Selene? What kind of game are you playing this time?”

“Peter!” Leila’s voice cut in. “You said you wanted to know what she’s been up to. My people found something!”

Leila then pulled out her phone and played a video. The footage was shaky and clearly edited. On screen, a woman—slightly blurry but somewhat resembling me—sat at a restaurant, laughing and talking with someone.

“See?” Leila smiled. “Selene is not even in the hospital. She’s out on a date.”

The lie was blatant. Amateur even.

But it erased any final doubt in Peter’s mind.

“Great! She lied to me again?” he growled. “Selene’s off with some guy now?”

Enraged, he charged forward and shoved the gurney.

Ryan shouted, “No!”

His eyes nearly popped open as he hurried to stop him, but he was too late. The heavy gurney hit the ground with a thud, and my body hit the ground with a sickening thud, though the sheet stayed in place.

Ryan lost all patience. Like a man possessed, he lunged at Peter and punched him hard in the face.

“You bastard! You monster!”

Peter staggered backward, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.

He wiped it with his sleeve, his expression unreadable.

“What death? That’s a fake body,” Peter said coldly. “So all of this was just a cover for her to run off with another guy?”

After they left the hospital, my soul followed them home.

Inside the living room, my daughter Chiara picked up the plush bunny sitting on the couch, her fingers curling around it instinctively.

Leila shot her a look of disdain.

“Chiara, toss that thing out. I’ll buy you something way better.”

Chiara hesitated for a moment, then gently pulled the toy closer to her chest.

She’s allergic to dust mites, but she’s always loved stuffed animals. I spent weeks searching for the right materials and hand-stitched that bunny myself—hypoallergenic and safe.

When I gave it to her, she actually smiled at me.

Floating above, I saw the flicker of conflict in her eyes.

For a moment, I felt a tiny spark of relief.

But the very next second, Chiara said, “Okay!”

She threw the bunny out the door like it was nothing more than trash.

Watching her throw away something I made with so much love, my soul felt like it was being torn apart.

Leila gave a satisfied smile. “Good girl. I already ordered the newest toy sets for you.”

She always used gifts to win Chiara's affection, using toys as weapons to push me aside. She never cared whether those toys triggered her allergies.

Later that night, when Leila brought one of those dust-filled toys into Chiara’s room, panic surged through me.

I tried to intervene. I tried everything.

But I was just a ghost now.

No one could see me. No one could hear me.

That same night, Chiara broke out in hives and was rushed to the hospital.

Leila looked at her rash-covered skin as if it were a bother. Any kindness she had ever shown was just for show—to make me suffer. Now that I was gone, she didn’t need to pretend anymore.

“Peter,” Leila said, fanning herself dramatically, “the air here is awful. I feel like I can’t even breathe.”

Peter nodded without looking at Chiara. “Mm. Just get some rest. The nurses will take care of her.”

And with that, Leila disappeared. Meanwhile, Peter buried himself in work.

For the next three days, Chiara remained completely alone in that hospital room.

I hovered nearby, helpless. My little girl was only six years old. She was still just a baby.

I’d always thought it was Leila who poisoned her against me, who made her grow distant.

Now, watching Chiara cry quietly under the covers, my heart twisted.

During a dressing change, a nurse observed bruises and needle marks on her hands and silently sighed.

“It’s always better when the real mom is around,” the nurse murmured. “Last time you reacted, it was your mom who carried you in. Poor woman was white as a sheet and stayed up all night holding you.”

Chiara blinked, confused. “My mom brought me in? Not Aunt Leila?”

The nurse shook her head with certainty. “Nope. It was your mother. I remember her clearly.”

Chiara stared at the ceiling, stunned, while pain clawed through my chest.

That night was burned into my memory. I held her hand all night, whispering comfort as she slept with a fever. But Leila stopped by in the morning just for a moment and somehow made Chiara believe she’d been there the entire time.

I tried to explain to Peter and begged him to believe me, but he didn’t.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” he snapped. “Leila was the one taking care of her!”

Later, the nurse handed Chiara a cup of medicine. She took one sip and grimaced.

“What is this?” she asked.

The nurse explained gently, “Anti-allergy meds. You’re severely allergic to dust mites, remember? You’ve got to stay away from plush toys, and don’t skip doses."

As the nurse listed precautions, my daughter’s face grew paler and paler.

When I was alive, I always made sure to avoid allergens and to ensure she took her medication regularly.

But Leila would always say, 'If the kid doesn’t want to take medicine, don’t make her. Let Auntie take her out to play instead.'

Eventually, Chiara grew closer to Leila, who spoiled her. Now, those memories played vividly in her mind, and her eyes filled with tears. She finally seemed to understand everything I had done for her.

Finally, Peter showed up.

Chiara looked up at him, her voice trembling as she cried, “Daddy… I miss Mommy.”

Peter wrapped her in his arms and gently rubbed her back.

“Leila hasn’t been feeling well. She said she’ll come visit you soon.”

In the past, Chiara would’ve been thrilled to hear that.

But this time, she shook her head.

Tears filled her eyes as she said, “Not Aunt Leila. I mean my mommy. Daddy, can we find Mommy? I really miss her…”

Peter had no response. He simply held her tighter.

Outside the door, Leila, who had planned to visit that day, paused in the hallway. She overheard every word.

Her face darkened.

Right there, she took out her phone and made a call.

“This brat’s not worth the trouble either," Leila said in anger. "I thought she was easy to manipulate, but turns out she’s just another ungrateful little punk who misses that woman. Fine. Let her go join her mother.”

Her tone was breezy, like she was chatting about lunch. But her words sent a freezing chill through me.

What was Leila planning?

After Chiara was discharged, Peter returned to the office.

A folder was waiting for him on his desk. Inside were divorce papers and a hefty stack of documents revealing all his affairs.

“Divorce?” Peter stared at the papers, stunned. “So now she’s in love with someone else? Wants to leave me? Where is she? If she’s serious about divorcing me, why doesn’t she say it to my face?”

His assistant, Benedict, hesitated. “Mr. Young, Miss Selene is dead. The funeral is this afternoon.”

Peter froze. “What do you mean by dead?”

He shot to his feet, face twisted with disbelief.

Then he laughed, incredulous. “Now, Selene’s dead and she wants a divorce?!”

Just days ago, Leila had told him I was out with another man, having dinner, shopping, and staying in hotels. She even showed him fake photos that haunted his mind.

“Sir,” Benedict said carefully, “the funeral is for your wife. All the documentation checks out. Miss Selene even bought her burial plot ahead of time. It’s likely she really has passed.”

Peter’s gaze darkened.

With a sharp slam, he threw the papers onto the desk.

“I don’t believe it!” He snarled the words through clenched teeth. “That woman lives to manipulate. First divorce, now a funeral? I’ll see for myself what kind of stunt she’s pulling now.”